Grace
Forty-five minutes, two chocolate chip muffins, and two caffeine hits later, we’ve outlined the rodeo festival of our dreams. It’s complete with special guest appearances from faces of rodeos past and present, a special musical performance by an up-and-coming country star—so long as she doesn’t turn me down—and all the rodeo events a cowboy could dream of.
“Whit, I think we’ve nailed this.” We grin at each other.
“I’m so proud of us,” Whit responds, clapping her hands with unbridled glee.
“I’ve gotta say, it feels good to be working on an event again.”
“Isn’t your whole job kind of events?” Whit’s eyebrows squish together.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” I reply, amused. “I certainly did, but it turns out the role of Events Exec is much less actual event planning and more people management and contracts.”
Whit’s attention lands on my fingers, and only then do I notice I’m fidgeting with the napkin in front of me.
Or at least what was the napkin—I seem to have torn it into several tiny pieces.
Feeling a bit like a child who’s been caught with their hand in the biscuit jar, I drop the remnants and slide my hands into my lap.
“You miss the nitty gritty event stuff.” It’s worded as a statement instead of a question, but I still nod. Whit gives me a knowing look as I chew on the inside of my cheek.
“I like my new role, but I loved that stuff. Which is why,” I say, plastering on a smile, “I’m excited about this.” And despite the smile I know isn’t reaching my eyes, it is true—I’m filled with unexpected excitement at the prospect of being involved in the Beaumont Ridge Rodeo Festival.
“Right, assigned duties!” A devilish grin slides onto Whit’s face.
If that isn’t proof enough that she’s in her element right now, the way she’s rubbing her palms together ecstatically is sure to sell it.
Whitney begins rattling off various to-do items and who they belong to.
I attempt to keep up, but have to ask her several times to slow down a little.
It would be fascinating to spend a day in her brain—the damn thing’s been in overdrive since she was a child, but always as passionate as it is chaotic.
“Naturally, my main job will be the advertising campaign and generating content. For you, obviously talking to Carson is top priority, but I have another one for your list—hanging more marketing material around town. The posters I’ve done won’t cut it now that we’ve upped the ante, so I’ll whip up some new ones for you.
I think you should definitely head to the lake too, and Tuck will help. ”
The casual mention of Tucker feels like a dousing of cold water.
“I’m sorry, Tucker will what?” His name still feels foreign on my tongue, but it’s something I could develop a palate for.
“He’ll help you hang the promotional items. Despite this being a small town, there’s an awful lot of places to hang flyers. To lighten the load, he’d be happy to help you—he can drive and you can hang. Are you familiar with a staple gun?”
“Whit, I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”
“Not a problem if not,” she says with a casual wave of her hand. “They’re super easy to learn. I’m sure Tuck can help you with that, too. He’s pretty handy.”
“No, no, not what I meant.” I let out a sigh.
I’m torn between not wanting to shit on Whit’s idea and wanting to scream that there’s no way in hell her brother wants to be stuck in a vehicle with me for half a day.
And as for me? My thoughts wander back to seeing him yesterday.
There was such a visceral reaction; not entirely unexpected after so many years apart, but a shock to the system nonetheless.
The way my heart stopped, just for a second, before going into an overdrive speed so powerful I worried it would burst out of my chest. The breath that couldn’t enter my lungs because they were restricted, unable to function.
The full body blush that started across my midsection, rapidly swirling out to my limbs and up to my neck and face—I could only hope it wasn’t visible to Tucker through my makeup.
The most unsettling of all was the ache in my stomach, and the way it ever so slowly crept deep into my pelvis.
So no, I don’t think I could be in an enclosed space with him for any period of time.
“I know how to work a staple gun, but I don’t think Tucker and I should be paired up. I can get one of the girls to help me. Look,” I say, pointing at my list of to-do items for the group, “Kenny has space.”
Whitney looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
I don’t half blame her—it sure feels like something that would happen in the alternate reality I’ve clearly slipped into in the past few seconds.
I really shouldn’t be to blame, though. This certainly isn’t the kind of development I’d expected when Whit proposed the rodeo festival idea. “Ah, no can do—Kenny gets car sick.”
I’m two seconds away from laughing, because no way is she being serious, when I notice Whit looking at me expectantly. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Wrong,” she responds, letting out a sigh. “She was practically born car sick. Probably because she was literally born in a moving vehicle. I guess that’s how it works but I really don’t know. Regardless,” she says with a shake of her head, “nope, not kidding. Sorry, G, but Tuck it is.”
Does she really not see what a terribly horrible, downright awful idea this is? Two exes, one vehicle, several hours and far too many memories.
“Even if the upchuckin’ wasn’t a concern, Kenny’s too tied up with Southern Belle business,” Whitney continues, blissfully unaware of my current inner turmoil.
“And ‘Southern Belle business’ is code for…” I trail off, my brows knitting together.
“Oh G, you really have missed so much!” It’s as though the dagger she stabbed me with not even ten minutes ago is now being twisted, slicing through my chest inch by painful inch.
Again, it’s entirely unintentional, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting like hell.
“Southern Belle Pageantry—Kenny owns the town pageant school.”
Hand me the crown for World’s Most Horrible, Awful Friend—I’ve earned it.
While I’ve been off living my life thousands of miles away, not a backwards glance to be had, my childhood friends have been right here in our hometown, chasing their dreams. We used to sit at the diner down the street, milkshakes in hand, talking about our futures.
The dreams we had, the lives we wanted; we plotted it all together.
In the twenty plus years that I’ve known Kennedy Taylor, she’s had one goal—open a pageantry school right here in Beaumont Ridge.
As a five-time Miss Tennessee and reigning Miss USA, Kenny was born for the stage.
“Do you think you’ll have time early next week between store business? I’m meeting Tucker for lunch later, so I can see when he’s free and get you two all organized, if you want?”
Oh good, we’re back to talking about her brother and me in far too close quarters.
“Can I let you know in a bit? I’ll have to check the job board when I get in this morning.”
“Of course! Here,” she reaches for one of the discarded pens between us and scribbles on the back of a flyer, sliding it into my palm with a grin, “this is my cell. Text me when you know, and we’ll go from there.”
Returning her smile, I fold the flyer and slip it into my back pocket.
“Does that conclude the business portion of this meeting?” I can’t help my teasing tone.
“Yes!” Whit clasps her hands, resting her forearms on the table and leaning forward with a smirk. “Let’s gossip.”
We talk about everything from career histories and new friends to Whit’s prom and first kiss; no stone is left unturned.
The conversation flows so easily, a stark contrast to yesterday’s with a different Beaumont sibling, and the carefree laughs heal something inside of me.
It feels like just yesterday that we were sitting on her living room floor, me braiding her hair and Whit crafting friendship bracelets.
The only conversation that’s yet to come up is familial updates—one I’ve been avoiding like the plague.
Apparently my avoidance can only persevere so long, and that time abruptly comes to an end when Whit says, “Oh my heavens, I can’t believe I haven’t even mentioned the rodeo school that the boys opened!
” Whitney smacks a palm on the table, startling me.
“Oh, G, you wouldn’t believe the businessman Tuck became to bring that place to life.
You should drop by sometime, it’s quite the establishment. ”
My jaw almost unhinges from the rest of my head.
“I’m sorry, Tucker, a businessman?” Immediately I’m trying to picture the man I saw yesterday in a suit and tie, sitting at a board room table, running through a PowerPoint presentation about rodeos.
I almost laugh at the thought alone. Does Tucker even know how to use PowerPoint?
Whit laughs, the melodic sound echoing around the booth.
“Ok, maybe I didn’t word that the best, because I can see the way your mind is losing it right now.
A businessman in the sense that he just transformed into someone who could confidently take the reins—pardon the pun—rather than the suit and tie kind. ”
“Wow,” I muse, more to myself than anything.
“I guess it’s not surprising though. He always was a bit of a leader and caretaker, even at that age.
” At the mention of caretaking, my mind drifts back to a rather bad case of food poisoning that saw me barely able to remove my head from the toilet, while a particularly attentive Tucker did everything and anything he could to make me feel even a semblance of humanity.
“Honestly, Tuck was the reason I was so okay after Dad passed. Something switched in him that day, you know? It was like he just assumed the role of head of the house. He put the family first, made sure Mom, Hudson and I had the support we needed. He realized we’d all just lost our rock, so he became one. ”
Emotion wells up through my chest, and it’s an effort to stop it from pouring out.
“What about Rhett?”
“Oh, he had the circuit to focus on in the early days. He was so close to making the Pro circuit, and Tuck wouldn’t let him give it all up.
Despite being the younger brother, he became the one to look out for Rhett, rather than the other way round.
With Dad gone and Mom grieving, Tuck knew something needed to be done to keep the ranch going.
You should’ve seen it, G. I’ve never seen him so focused on something.
He recruited Sonny—you remember Sonny?” I nod.
“Yeah, those two became a bit of a dynamic duo where the ranch was concerned, for many years. But now that Tuck and Rhett have the rodeo school, it takes up most of their time, so Sonny manages the ranch with a small team.”
With each word out of Whit’s mouth, I’m coming to accept that I know less and less about Tucker.
It’s with a heavy heart that I realize I don’t know him as a thirty-year-old man.
The Tucker I knew, the eighteen-year-old who broke my heart, no longer exists outside my thoughts.
It’s also painting a painful picture, filling in some of the gaps from the year after I left.
Why he kept delaying his move. I wonder if he ever really planned on leaving?
There’s so much unsaid between us—will that ever change?
The thought of bringing it up, rehashing those scarred wounds for just a chance at closure, scares me more than I care to admit. As does the idea of closing us.
Despite my better judgement—and the angel on my shoulder screaming Warning!
This is a horrible idea!—I find myself desperately wanting to know more about this older, grown version of him.
I’ve certainly changed since all those years ago, so it’s ludicrous to think he wouldn’t have, too.
Perhaps we just need to learn each other again.
The devil on my other shoulder squeals with delight at this thought—I dare you to give him the chance to prove himself.
“I’m so glad you had Tucker here, Whit.” It isn’t much—frankly, it’s pitiful compared to what she’s just divulged so freely—but it’s all I can manage at this point.
Other than Dad advising me of Garrett Sr.’s passing, I’ve spent the majority of the past twelve years blissfully unaware of what was occurring in Tucker’s life.
Was I occasionally curious about it? Of course.
I think I’d be insane not to be. But did I let my teenage heartbreak and self-righteousness run rampant, to the point I refused to ask anyone anything about him? Regrettably, yes.
Time flies while we catch up, resulting in a flustered Whitney realizing she’s got about ten minutes to hurry across town to the diner. We say a quick goodbye, squeezing each other a little too tight for a little too long, and then with a promise to text her my schedule, Whit’s gone.
Stepping foot in Beaumont Ridge again has been more anxiety-inducing than I’d first expected, but for the first time since arriving, there’s something else mingled into that feeling—hope.